


We Capture a Flag

by Rinzler



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6981754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinzler/pseuds/Rinzler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Son-of-Athena!Barry and son-of-Poseidon!Len play capture the flag. <br/>(Bonus points if you recognize the title reference.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Capture a Flag

“Did you just soak me on purpose?” Barry yells, struggling to his feet, nearly falling over several times as the slick river stones don’t offer much traction. Safely on the high and dry riverbank, Len smirks down at him.

“Now, now, Barry. That would be unsportsmanlike.”

“Which is exactly what you are,” Barry says viciously. He reaches a hand up to push his sopping-wet bangs off of his forehead, tilting his head up to try and wipe water out of his eyes. The motion makes the sunbeams streaming in through the forest canopy flicker across the arch of his throat, water droplets glittering gold across his cheekbones, flushed scarlet in anger.

Len grips the hilt of his sword tighter. “Didn’t realize rules of chivalry applied in battle.”

Barry huffs and crosses his arms. “We’re playing capture the flag,” he says, and starts trying to wade out of the stream. He doesn’t make it far before he slips on a rock and falls to his knees again, water splashing up onto the leather armor he’s wearing. By now Barry’s completely soaked, his long-sleeved red shirt clinging to his skin. He groans and glares up at Len.

Len raises an eyebrow at him, glad he’s taken off his blue-crowned helmet so his smirk is perfectly clear. “Your point?”

“Is it too much to ask that you not track me down and make my life hell every time the camp plays these games?” Barry says. “Just once I’d like to last longer than ten minutes without you humiliating me.”

“Can’t do that.” Len drawls obnoxiously. Barry’s hands curl into fists. “You’re the fastest runner Red Team’s got. Too much of an advantage.”

“I’m not an advantage if I’m busy drowning in the middle of a stream!” Barry protests, managing to stand up again. He steps forward carefully, alternating between glaring at Len and navigating safely back to shore. “How about someone else, then? You go fight the rest of the Red Team and let someone else humiliate me in new and creative ways every other week.”

“Can’t do that either.” Len says as Barry reaches the riverbank. When Barry tries to walk past him into the forest, back towards the action, he raises his sword and points it directly at Barry’s chest. “Sorry, kid. Gotta get past me first.”

Barry sighs and reaches for his sword. When his hand closes around empty air, Len allows himself a short laugh at Barry’s resulting panic.

“My sword! What happened to my- did you steal it, Snart? Where is it? I need that!” He turns around, scanning the forest floor around them.

After a minute of hopeless searching, Len finally takes pity on him. “For someone so fast with his mind, you’re a little slow.” He says and gestures with his sword at the clear water of the river.

When Barry spots the glinting metal lying in the middle of the stream, several meters out, he almost wails in desperation and annoyance. “Oh, come on! I just got out of there!”

Len opens his mouth, another cocky retort on the tip of his tongue, when they’re interrupted by the sound of the horn signalling the game is over. Both of them look up, tracking the sound. One team has managed to capture the other’s flag. Len is fairly sure he knows which team it is.

All of his thoughts of gloating, however, screech to a halt like a freight train when he looks back down at Barry.

Usually the son of Athena takes Len’s various taunts and quips with something resembling grace, more than ready to volley back a few choice insults of his own. Len will never admit it, but verbally sparring with Barry is infinitely more satisfying than taking down anyone else in the training arena. Barry is more than smart, he’s deceptively witty, and one of the few that appreciates a good pun aside from the son of Hephaestus currently clanking after Lisa and her charmspeak- Crisco? Cisco? Doesn’t matter.

The point is, defeating Barry is only a victory in that it makes him try so much harder, making the next defeat so much more of a challenge. Len has always loved a good challenge.

Right now, though, Barry looks crushed. There’s no anger or annoyance sparking behind his eyes, no drive and no determination. He looks swept away, like when he’s reading or lecturing or designing another experiment but so much more…empty. Just looking at him is enough to make something similarly ugly and hollow rise in the back of Len’s throat.

“Great,” Barry mutters. “We lost. Just great.”

“Your team lost.” Len corrects him. The moment the words are out of his mouth, hanging in the air between them, he knows it was the wrong thing to say. Barry slumps over dejectedly, his whole body collapsing and curling in on itself. Still soaked head to toe, he looks absolutely pitiful.

“For once in your life,” he spits out bitterly, “could you not act like a complete and utter asshole?”

Barry steps to the side and shoulders past Len, walking back towards the main pavilion now that the game’s over. Len makes an aborted gesture to reach out for him, hand grasping nothing but empty air as the fabric of Barry’s sleeve slips through his fingers like water.

It doesn’t take long for Barry’s footsteps to fade, the sound of leaves and twigs crunching underfoot growing quieter before it disappears completely, leaving Len alone once again in the quiet of the forest.

Another long moment passes before Len lowers his arm, sheathing his sword before he bends down to pick up his helmet. Then he picks up Barry’s, knocked off when he’d summoned a wave that swept the kid into the river.

The river.

Len looks back at the clear water, looking for the telltale glint of metal he knows is still there. When he finds it, he raises a hand, summoning a thin stream of water. It wraps around the hilt of the sword, dragging it across the river stones before depositing it at Len’s feet. The water falls to the ground with a splash as he releases his hold over it.

Len picks the sword up. The leather-wrapped hilt is soaked, throwing off the balance a little, but it’s still a good sword. Elegant and captivatingly beautiful, yet still lethal. Just like its wielder. The lightning bolt etchings along the blade- actually comprised of hundreds of tiny words- are a work of art.

Barry treasures this sword so much it’s like the adult version of a safety blanket. Len swallows back bile and tries not to think about how badly he must have upset Barry for him to leave his sword lying in the middle of the river, completely forgotten.

He slips it through a secondary hook on his belt and tucks Barry’s helmet under his arm, then turns and begins the long walk back to camp.

Forget fighting Titans and harpies and even Medusa herself. Not completely fucking up his chances with the guy he’s hopelessly in love with is harder than any quest could ever be.


End file.
